


Caught

by anotherdiana



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-15 03:46:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1290073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherdiana/pseuds/anotherdiana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik/Raoul. Erik's been watching Raoul, Philippe's a spiffing older bro. Christine unintentionally causes trouble, apparently she attracts almost as much trouble as Raoul does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Falling

He was up above the boxes, on the walkway that ran all the way around the walls, at the very top of the Opera Populaire. From here, he could see into the boxes on the opposite side, and he could look down at the stalls, and the stage, although he never dared lean too far, because there was no rail to stop him from falling. He was still a fair way beneath the domed ceiling, but at this height, he could almost imagine that he could just reach out and touch the chandelier suspended in the middle of the room. Such impulses were occasionally hard to resist, and if he gave in to the foolish urge, it would send him plummeting down to the stalls, his body would break against the seats, and his blood would stain the red upholstery a dark brown. The seats and carpet would have to be replaced, there would be no way to hide the stains.

He pulled himself back from the edge, and from such dark thoughts. He came up here because it was beautiful. Because it was quiet, and he could go unseen. To be so far above everything else, to look down at the people scurrying below, it was an intoxicating feeling. Was this how the angels felt when looking down on Earth? Were they elated at the detachment from the noise and rush below, or did they wish to join them in mortal life?

He came to a stop when he was nearing the stage, still about 30 metres away. He was above box 5. The box he hadn’t sat in for weeks now. That was the reason he had come up here the first time, standing in the stalls before rehearsal started, he had been looking at the magnificent chandelier, the cherubs decorating the ceiling, when he had caught a glimpse of… something. A cloak being whipped out of sight. It was so dark up there, he wasn’t even sure he had seen it. But there had been notes falling from thin air, scenery dropping without warning, that musical voice which called from the shadows. And Raoul was intrigued. It had taken him the better part of a day to find his way up to the walkway, he hadn’t dared ask a stagehand for directions. He was sure the managers would not let him go up unescorted.

When he finally found his way to the top of the opera house, he was left breathless by the view. He had found no trace of the mysterious ‘Phantom’ but considered the little adventure well worth his time. He started making regular trips up to the walkway, partially to get away from the drama of the Opera Populaire and watch everything unfold from a distance, and partially because he was still hoping to find the Phantom of the Opera. So far, the man had shown neither hide nor hair of himself, although Raoul often had the unsettling feeling that he was being watched. He didn’t have that feeling now, however, so it came as a shock when a voice tore him from his musings.

“Vicomte.” The voice was bitter and rough, and Raoul could almost hear the sneer that accompanied it.

He turned, cautiously, to face the newcomer. It was a senior stagehand, and Raoul recognised him by face although not by name. He could have been an attractive sort of fellow, if his face wasn’t permanently twisted into a hateful grimace.

“What are you doing up here, all alone? It’s dangerous up here. Accidents happen, you know.” The glint in the man’s eyes was off-putting.

Raoul had a horrible feeling that he was in terrible danger of experiencing one of those ‘accidents’.

“I, I was only trying to escape the crowd for a short while,” Raoul explained, hastily, “It gets very hectic during rehearsal, everyone shouting at one another. I was looking for some peace and quiet! But I’m intruding. I’ll leave you to your work.”

Raoul steeled himself, and walked in front of the stagehand toward the nearest of the two flights of stairs. He didn’t want to spend another moment on the walkway with this sinister man. It suddenly seemed very foolish to have ever come up. The Phantom had likely never been up here, it had been a stagehand he’d seen in the shadows all those weeks ago.

He was stopped short by a hand seizing his bicep. Fear thundered in his chest.

He caught a whiff of cheap cologne as the stagehand pulled him close to whisper in his ear.

“Whoops.”

He was thrown away, violently, and he felt his feet leave the ground, or perhaps the ground leave his feet. The shock hit him like an iron bar to the stomach, and for a moment he was breathless. Then he felt himself fall, and he screamed. Time slowed, but his descent didn’t. He had no time at all, and yet all the time in the world. He kept screaming. One terrible, long note to accompany his death. In a moment of clarity, he heard other screams in the distance. Woman screaming from the stage as they noticed him fall. Men shouting, panic for their patron who would die in their care. Christine. Christine was screaming, and he could pick her horrified cries out over everyone else’s.

He could see into every box as he fell. Empty. Every box empty. He’d never sit in one of them again. And there! Box 5!

He stopped falling.

His arm wrenched, he was in agony, but he wasn’t falling anymore. He went numb, body and mind, and his ears were ringing with women’s screams that had turned to whimpers. As the pain started to saturate through his shock, he became aware of a hand, clenched like a vice around his wrist.

He’d been caught. How was that possible? He’d fallen for miles, for hours.

And the hand was pulling him up. Raoul dragged himself towards lucidity, there was a man in the box, pulling him up by one hand, his other hand was reaching over the front of the box towards him, touching his waist, circling it. Raoul reached up with the arm that was not screaming in pain, and grabbed the side of the box, helping the man to pull him in, to safety.

He stumbled as his feet found solid ground, and the man let go of his wrist. He gasped as the arm swung down to his side, pain running through it like fire.

“The shoulder is dislocated, the sudden jolt when I caught you.” The man might as well have been talking to himself. Raoul could not focus on a single word. “This will hurt.”

The man seized him, pushed him firmly into the wall, and jerked his arm upwards, quickly popping the joint back into place.

Raoul screamed again, and tears that had not come in the seconds he had been falling, the minute it had taken to be saved, were now flowing unchecked down his face.

The man gathered him into his arms, pulling him close.

“Shush, it’s over, it will bruise but it will heal. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

A hand was caressing his hair, and comforting words were being murmured into his ear. Raoul let himself cry, and held tightly to the man who had saved him.

 

 


	2. Soothing

When perhaps twenty minutes had passed, when Raoul’s tears had long since stopped and dried, he slowly pulled away. His body felt heavy, his energy drained. In all this time, the man had not moved except to stroke his back and run comforting fingers through his hair.

Raoul looked at him now and saw, as he’d expected, the very man he’d been searching for when he fell. He was just as Christine had described. The porcelain mask covering the right side of his face caught the candlelight, and he was tall. Far taller than Raoul. Taller even than Philippe.

He reached out to Raoul, hesitantly, and Raoul could not help but notice his long, elegant fingers. They were pianist’s fingers, and for a moment Raoul was absurdly jealous of their beauty, before he remembered that they were the hands that had saved him.

“Vicomte… Raoul. You’ve had a shock. Let me escort you to the managers’ office. They will arrange a carriage.”

He had a voice that was strong, with the soothing cadence of waves on the shore. It had depth and texture, and reminded Raoul of everything he had ever loved all at the same time. It was the overwhelming warmth of a fire in the winter.

“… must listen to me.” He was speaking again, and Raoul tried to pay attention. “You must never go up there again. Promise me that. It isn’t safe, and one misstep will cause another fall.”

“Pushed.” Raoul came to him senses enough to whisper.

“What?”

Raoul cleared his throat, shook his head slightly to try and gather some focus.

“I was pushed.”

He didn’t even have time to react when the Phantom reached out and grabbed him again, by the shoulders. Holding him at arms length, he bent down slightly to look directly into his eyes.

“Who pushed you?” His voice was filled with deadly rage, and where it had filled Raoul with warmth before, it now sent an icy wave over him.

“I… I don’t know. One of the stagehands. I don’t know his name.”

“I see.”

The Phantom. Suddenly Raoul understood why they called him that. The threatening notes, the tricks on the managers that were, for the most part, harmless. They were nothing. But this murderous rage that had overtaken his every move, this was why they feared him. He had not taken his hand from Raoul’s shoulder, and he swiftly steered him out of the box, through the corridors. He was silent as he moved, his footfalls made no sound, he seemed scarcely to be breathing.

In a matter of minutes they were stood outside the managers’ office, and Raoul could hear his brother’s angry voice inside. They must have sent a messenger for him immediately, and he would have wasted no time riding to the Opera House.

“Monsieur le Comte, please calm down-”

“CALM DOWN?! When you bring my brother to me I will calm down! You say you know where he is, go and get him!!”

“Monsieur, I have explained, the door to Box 5 is barred, we cannot-”

“Do you not have a key?!”

“Well…. there isn’t actually a lock. We don’t know how…”

The Phantom knocked on the door.

“I will not be far.”

And he was gone.

The door was opened by a frazzled-looking Firmin.

“Monsieur le Vicomte, thank God!”

He was elbowed rather rudely out the way, and Raoul found himself once again crushed in a tight embrace. He squirmed to get free.

“I’m quite alright, Philippe, no need to fret.”

“Where have you been, I’ve been told you fell from the ceiling! That someone caught you, and that you’ve been missing half an hour at least!”

“It wasn’t half an hour, I’m sure. And I fell from the walkway, not the ceiling. And I didn’t fall, I was pushed!”

The managers both gasped loudly. Andre bustled over, like an over-stuffed matron.

“Monsieur le Vicomte, who could have done such a terrible, _heinous_ -”

“That’s quite enough, Andre.” Raoul cut him off. “There’s no need to be dramatic. I don’t know who he was, and as you see, I am unscathed.”

Philippe frowned.

“Raoul, this man needs to be found and brought to justice. He could have killed you, and he might try again.”

“When I know who he is, I will inform you. Until then, I will be careful, and will not wander around unaccompanied. You have my word.”

Philippe looked unsatisfied, but said nothing more. Andre and Firmin, however, looked positively jubilant. They shared an excited glance before Firmin stepped forward keenly.

“I think, Monsieur, we would all like to know who it was that caught you.”

They were interrupted by what sounded like the entire cast screaming at once.

“Good God, do you ever have a quiet moment in this place?” Philippe shouted, as all four men rushed out of the door and ran for the stage.

They arrived to find themselves confronted with a troop of terrified chorus girls, and several men fanning Carlotta who had fallen to the floor in a dead faint.

“What the Devil is going on?!” Andre yelled above the racket.

Madame Giry walked over, quite calmly, and pointed to the top tier of boxes.

“I believe our friend, the Phantom, is the cause of this disturbance.”

Raoul jumped at a sudden voice in his ear.

“Disturbance? She makes it sound like wasps at a picnic!”

He turned to see Christine smiling, wickedly.

“Oh dear, Monsieur Poulin seems to have got on my tutor’s bad side. I can’t say I’m sorry for it. The man is odious. He’s insisted I join him for dinner five times already this month! I’m rather afraid I used you as an excuse for my refusal each time, Raoul.”

Raoul glanced upwards, and gasped.

“That's the man who pushed me!” he exclaimed.

Said man was being suspended over the side of the box and shaken rather viciously by none other than the Phantom of the Opera. His sobs and occasional screams were audible to everyone.

Suddenly, he was thrown away from the box.

Neither Philippe nor the managers made a move, although almost everyone else on the stage began to scream again. Carlotta, who had just woken and was being supported by several men, fainted again, rather overdramatically.

Raoul turned his face away as the man hit the seats below, but could not close his ears to the sickening crunch his bones made as they shattered.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where I'm going with this.


End file.
